Death is not Kind
by Scars on the Wrists
Summary: Bella Swan is left alone. Her husband is dead. Her family and kids are dead. What's more can they take? Everything.


Okay, time for a new story, exciting isn't it? I know, this story doesn't make sense BUT I did write something _new_. Eh, no HEA, but who cares, it's a _NEW_ story.

**I own the plot, I do not own Twilight. **

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Death is not Kind.

My name will never be remembered.

These tear-stained pages are crumpling into dust as you read them.

I throw the other half of me in the embers, watching fire consume them, my silent screams finally being heard.

People rush into the living room and scream in horror.

Why, you ask?

Why darling, I'm burning, like the witches in history.

I tied myself to the fire place, and stepped into the hot fires and closed my eyes.

I've already tried to overdose, hang myself, cut, and electrocution, and I have tried to throw myself off a roof of the tallest building.

It never works.

My broken, mangled body is always brought back to life, to live in a cruel world of the ITS.

The new world after, the Fifth World War was won by the enemies, we never have been the same.

I did love before, this all happened, that's why I'm trying to die you see?

I close my eyes as the fire consumes me, licking up my legs, oh so gracefully.

It feels wonderful, my vision is blurred I can see shapes of people, my family is long dead, it must be the Shuffles.

The Undeaders, as others call them, they take and bring you back to the living and force you to create babies with others so our species will survive.

I had five children all born six months apart.

They are all dead.

Killed by the ITS.

I killed my first born two days after the birth, I didn't want him to be chopped into little pieces and eaten by the ITS.

I hope this works.

I cannot hear anything anymore, no sight.

It's comforting.

After five years of trying to die, I've succeeded.

Maybe.

Green eyes blaze at me, he's mad.

I look away and then look back, glaring at the love of my life.

How dare he be mad at me!

He's the one who decided to fucking die in the war, with eight million others, leaving only two handfuls of people to live in hell, myself included.

The sun peeks out, his hair catches the ray, the color is hard to describe.

Bronze.

I remember the color before the war.

Standing on my tip-toes I kiss him, and he kisses me.

It's been too long.

Clothes fall to the ground and skin meet.

Sweat, panting, and the sound of moans echo around us.

All too soon we lay panting for air, I swear for a moment I could see steam rise off our bodies.

_Why?_ He asks me. I look into his eyes and smile.

_Because, you jump, I jump, remember?_ I trace the jagged, ridged scars on his chest.

_Bella, baby, you aren't supposed to be here. It's not time yet._ He mutters something under his breath, and I can't hear anything but what he just said. Over and over again in my head.

Brows furrowed I shake my head, tears coming out of my eyes, like waterfalls in the summer.

_Why the fuck not?! I'm been trying to be Here for five long, agonizing years, why can't I die?!_ I demand, my voice raising, hysterical, my dead husband is even denying me death.

How fucked up is that?

_Bella, I can't tell you, you must discover it for yourself. _

_Awesome, a prophet now are we?_ I sneer, getting up I gather my clothes, and blink when they changes into a sundress.

Wonderful.

I put it on and the world is spinning.

I scream and scream but no one hears them.

It's black, I can't see, or hear anything.

I gasp, when something hits me in the face, liquid, I smell blood.

Shivering, I walk forward, the smell of blood is stronger than ever.

Light breaches the crack in the wall.

I can see.

Gasping in horror I cover my mouth and scream.

Beyond the crack in the wall is the ITS and their kills.

In the pile are my two babies, guts, limbs, hanging out of their little bodies, they have no head or arms.

Sobbing I fall to the ground and wail.

I have no future.

I am even denied death.

There is no future for me.


End file.
